vein, and regretting that some of the people at Downing Street had not been present to hear it, and witness its effect. CHAPTER XVIII. OLD FRIENDS ON THE GREEN. TOM SEDLEY saw the Etherage girls on the green, and instead of assisting as he had intended, at the great doings in the town, he walked over to have a talk with them. People who know Cardyllian remember the two seats, partly stone, partly wood, which are placed on the green, near the margin of the sea--seats without backs--on which you can sit with equal comfort, facing the water and the distant mountains, or the white-fronted town and old Castle of Cardyllian. Looking toward this latter prospect, the ladies sat, interested, no doubt, though they preferred a distant view, in the unusual bustle of the quiet old place. On one of these seats sat Charity and Agnes, and as he approached, smiling, up got Charity and walked some steps towards him! looking kindly, but not smiling, for that was not her wont, and with her thin hand, in doe-skin glove, extended to greet him. "How are you, Thomas Sedley? when did you come?" asked Miss Charity, much gladder to see him than she appeared. "I arrived this morning; you're all well, I hope;" he was looking at Agnes, and would have got away from Miss Charity, but that she held him still by the hand. "All very well, thank you, except Agnes. I don't think she's very well. I have ever so much to tell you when you and I have a quiet opportunity, but not now,"--she was speaking in a low tone;--"and now go and ask Agnes how she is." So he did. She smiled a little languidly, he thought, and was not looking very strong, but prettier than ever--so _very_ pretty! She blushed too, very brilliantly, as he approached; it would have been flattering had he not seen Cleve Verney walking quickly over the green toward the Etherage group. For whom was the blush? Two gentlemen had fired simultaneously. "Your bird? I rather think _my_ bird?--isn't it?" Now Tom Sedley did not think the bird his, and he felt, somehow, strangely vexed. And he got through his greeting uncomfortably; his mind was away with Cleve Verney, who was drawing quickly near. "Oh! Mr. Verney, _what_ a time it is since we saw you last!" exclaimed emphatic Miss Charity; "I really began to think you'd _never_ come." "Very good of you, Miss Etherage, to think about me." "And you never gave me your subscription for our poor old women, last winter!" "Oh! my subscription? I'll give it now--what was it to be--a pound?" "No, you promised only ten shillings, but it _ought_ to be a pound. I think less would be _shameful_." "Then, Miss Agnes, shall it be a pound?" he said, turning to her with a laugh--with his fingers in his purse, "whatever you say I'll do." "_Agnes_--of _course_, a pound," said Charity, in her nursery style of admonition. "Charity says it must be a pound," answered Agnes. "And _you_ say so?" "Of course, I must."